Chasing Shadow Demons

by John Moore

  Tom kissed me goodbye and then turned to Piper. He picked up both of her little hands in his. “Piper, I’m sorry for losing it earlier. Things will work out. Have fun with Alexandra. We’ll have time to get to know each other better when I return. I love you.”

  As they drove off into the early morning mist, Piper whispered, “I love you too.”

  “So, Piper, where were you born?” I asked. This was my opening salvo into her world. I wanted to peel back her layers and find her core.

  “California,” she answered, blunting my inquiry. She knew I wanted to know more, but she wasn’t ready to give it up. I was fine with her evasiveness, because she was in my world now. After all, I was an investigative journalist blogger, a sport I’d mastered.

  “Hey, I know it’s early, but how do you feel about going for a walk?” I asked.

  “Sure,” Piper said in an enthusiastic voice. “I’ve been at the computer most of the night. Walking sounds great.”

  Oh, the energy of youth, I thought. If I’d been up all night, I’d be dead tired. It was a beautiful Northern California June morning. The air was cool and crisp, the sun’s rays veiled by a slight mist. Woodpeckers pecked at dead trees, diligently searching for breakfast. Songbirds sang their tunes while a gentle breeze rustled the leaves to provide the percussion for nature’s symphony. I grabbed a sweater, and Piper put on a UCLA sweatshirt as we embarked along the winding roads of Red Bluff.

  “I see your sweatshirt is from UCLA. Is that a college somewhere here in California?” I asked coyly.

  Piper slightly rolled her eyes before turning to me giving me an incredulous look. I knew she was wondering how I didn’t know what UCLA was. But, like every person from California or New York, she believed everyone from any other American state was a dumb hick.

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s in Los Angeles. My mother bought it for me.”

  “That’s nice. Did she graduate from UCLA?”

  “I don’t think so. That’s where she met Victor. I think she gave up on getting a degree after that,” she said.

  “Really? That’s too bad. Do you know what her major was?” I really wanted to find out more about this Victor guy but decided pushing it wasn’t a good idea yet. I’d heard very little of his story, but was already developing a distaste for him.

  “No, I don’t know. She was on the dance squad. She told me she marched in the Rose Bowl Parade one year,” she said.

  “Wow, that must have been exciting. I know your mom’s name is Sandy Rawlins. Is Rawlins her maiden name or did she marry Victor and take his name?”

  Piper’s face turned combative, her eyes as cold as the winter winds blowing through the corn back home in Indiana. “She’d never marry that creep Victor,” she said in a harsh tone. “She could have been something if she hadn’t met him.”

  I knew it. Victor was a bad guy. I got the feeling that he was the reason her mother sent Piper away to live with Ethan. I decided to push for more information about her mother.

  “So, does your mother work?”

  I could see Piper was growing tired of this conversation. She was stressing, her fists were balled, and her arms were crossed. She exhaled heavily. “Mom works at Victor’s spa in Los Angeles,” she said. “I hated it there. Can we talk about something else?”

  “Sure. I didn’t mean to pry. I just want to get to know you better,” I said. “You amazed me with the way you restructured my blog. Where did you learn to do that?”

  “When I lived with my mom, I was homeschooled. One of the ladies who helped homeschool me introduced me to the world of computers. I loved it. I spent hours searching the web, reading articles, and watching tutorial videos about building websites.”

  “That’s cool. So you are mostly self-taught,” I said.

  “Yeah, you can learn anything on the web. I learned how to write code. It’s easy and fun.”

  When Piper talked about the web, her entire body language changed. Her arms leaped from her side, and her hands drew intricate pictures in the air as she described her learning adventures. She shifted her torso to me as she spoke, open and vulnerable, not closed and protective. Something or someone had instilled fear in her. She isn’t as rebellious as she is cautious, I thought. She’d learned how to shut down, shut people out to protect herself.

  “After a while, Victor restricted my use of the computer,” she said. “My mom and the other ladies at the spa helped me sneak around and use it when he wasn’t watching. They were scared of him but always did things they weren’t supposed to do. We all helped each other sneak.”

  After that Piper clammed up. She wanted to head back to the house and take a nap. She needed it too, because her eyes were drooping and her voice was weakening. She went to bed as soon as we entered the door.

  What the hell was going on with her mother? I wondered. Why did the other women in the spa have to sneak around to help Piper learn on the web? When she wakes up, I’m going to find out who this Victor guy is and what’s really going on, I thought.

  Chapter Eight:

  Piper’s Story

  Morning sun broke through the clouded night, casting broken rays through the bedroom window. I reached for Tom, forgetting he was in Chicago, and my heart sunk momentarily. It struck me I was getting used to having him next to me. But even though I was missing Tom, I loved the early morning stillness of Red Bluff. No sounds, no movement except the rising and falling of my own chest.

  While Piper slept, I made a cup of California coffee, a.k.a. stevia-sweetened green tea. It was good, but I longed for a café au lait from Café du Monde in the New Orleans French Quarter, the smell of fresh baked beignets wafting in the air. I missed the warm, friendly daily interaction with the New Orleans “who dats,” a slang term for the city’s residents. It was derived from the tune created by the New Orleans Saints fans’ favorite chant: “Who dat talking ’bout beating dem Saints? Say who dat?” Football was more than just a sport in Louisiana. It was a way of life. In 2009, the city was struggling to find its way back after Hurricane Katrina blew through property and lives. The Saints did the impossible, something they’d never come close to doing before that magical year. They won thirteen of their sixteen regular-season games and went on to win the Super Bowl. The effect on New Orleans was like antibiotics on a bacterial infection. Healing. Buoyed by the victory, the city began its recovery in earnest and never looked back. Smaller but stronger, New Orleans is the number one cultural tourist destination in the United States. Still, the stevia was something I could get used to. The sweetness of sugar without all of the lousy side effects. Very appealing idea.

  “Good morning,” squeaked Piper’s voice from behind me.

  Before I could speak, my phone rang. I answered without checking the caller ID, thinking it was Tom.

  “Hi, Alexandra,” a vaguely familiar voice said. “This is Mandy.”

  Piper made herself a cup of green tea and sat close enough to me to eavesdrop on my conversation. Her impish ears seemed to grow an inch or two as she tried to catch every word.

  “Oh, hi, Mandy, how are things in New Orleans?” I asked.

  “Still getting used to not hanging out with Bob,” she said, trailing her voice ever downward in deeper and quieter tones like a person hoarse and breathless from a chest cold.

  I shivered. No way was I getting into that subject with Piper sitting next to me. “How are Charlotte and your father?”

  “They’re fine, I guess,” she answered, her voice devoid of any hint of enthusiasm. “When are you coming back to the city?”

  “In a few days,” I answered, wondering where this conversation was going.

  “Good. I have a new job I want to talk to you about,” she said in an eerie tone reminiscent of a stalker call in a horror movie.

  “Where are you working?” I asked.

  “Don’t want to spoil the surprise. I want to sh
ow you when you are back in the city. Call when you get home. Bye for now.”

  She abruptly hung up. “Who was that weirdo?” Piper asked.

  “She’s a friend in New Orleans going through a rough time,” I said, stretching the friend concept a bit. Piper sensed I didn’t want to say any more. She dropped the subject. “OK, girl, you and I are here alone. James and Rose left early this morning for a meeting with an organic farmer. I didn’t catch the details, but it’s just you and me for the next four hours. Since you are going to be living with Tom and me, I want to know the details of your life.”

  She sunk in her chair, becoming even smaller. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. Where you were born. Were you baptized? What’s your favorite color? Have you had all of your immunization shots? Like I said, everything.”

  Color left her face as she squirmed. “I can’t tell you everything. You won’t want me to live with you if I do.”

  “Piper, that’s not true. You’ve got to learn to trust me. We are family now.”

  “I trusted my mother and she sent me away.”

  “I’m not sending you anywhere. You’re stuck with me,” I said. “Since we are on the topic of your mother, tell me about her.”

  Piper sat back, drew in a deep breath, and exhaled. Her eyes shifted upward and to the right before she looked directly at me. “When I was little, Mom was a happy, fun-loving person. She used to turn on MTV videos and we’d dance and sing along with the stars. We’d do stuff together—go to the bowling alley, to the zoo, or out for ice cream, that kind of thing. She’d let me fix her hair. You know, mom and daughter stuff.”

  I knew. I felt a terrible pain for a moment, remembering my own mother-daughter times.

  “But a few years ago, we moved into an apartment next to the spa where my mother worked. About twenty other women younger than my mom lived in the same complex and worked at the spa. The spa was owned and run by Victor Borin, a mean man from Russia. Most of the women working in the spa were from Eastern European countries. Victor made sure they worked at the spa every day. They weren’t allowed to leave the apartment without Victor or one of his men going with them.”

  Oh my God, I thought, that isn’t a spa. It sounds like a front for a bordello. I couldn’t tell Piper her mother worked at a whorehouse. I had to find a tactful way to let her know. No wonder she was homeschooled. This Victor guy didn’t want the school or anyone else asking questions. How can you have a bordello operating in the open in a city like Los Angeles?

  I fought the urge to show repulsion, and calmly asked, “What did your mother do at the spa?” I braced myself for an unwelcome answer.

  “She was the manager who scheduled appointments and took care making sure rooms were available for the women,” she answered. “She bought nice clothes for them and made sure they always looked nice. If she didn’t, Victor would get mad and punish her.”

  “How did he punish her?”

  Piper hesitated. Her eyes surveyed the room, trying to look anywhere but at me. She tightly clamped her lips to prevent any words from leaking out. A sinking feeling befell me. Did he beat her? I asked myself. She didn’t want to answer, but I had to know. I just couldn’t let the opportunity to learn about Piper’s life escape.

  “Piper?” I queried, forcing her eyes to meet mine with my outstretched hands.

  “Uh . . . She . . . uh . . . he . . . uh. He wouldn’t give her things. Sometimes he would hit her too,” she answered.

  “What would he refuse to give her?”

  “Drugs,” she spat out, a stream of tears running down her face. Then her voice speeded up. “I didn’t want to tell you. My mom is a heroin addict. Most of the women who worked at the spa were addicted to some type of drugs.”

  Now she was crying uncontrollably. He face contorted as she tried to form words. They just wouldn’t come. I grabbed her and hugged her close to me. “It’s OK, Piper. You are with us now. It’ll all be OK.”

  My God, what a miserable childhood she must have had. How did her mother get mixed up in that life? Now was certainly not the time to pursue the answers I so desperately wanted. Piper was too overwrought—understandably so. How must she be feeling? Her crack whore mother threw her out. Her career-driven, emotionally unavailable father was killed. And now she had to move to a strange city to live with people she didn’t even know. My heart ached for her. I hoped Tom and I could deal with all of this in a way to make her feel loved.

  “Hi, everybody. We’re home,” Rose yelled as she entered the front door.

  Piper wiped her eyes, composing herself quickly before she headed to her bedroom. She’d learned to conceal her emotions well. She had probably led a “see and not be seen” life for as long as she could remember. I didn’t blame her for not wanting to interact with Rose and James. They were nice people but, like most people of their type, lived for their most recent cause, emotionally secluded, avoiding intimate relationships. Ethan was like his parents. Driven by his career, he’d been consumed with his own world, excluding all others. I saw a little of this trait in Tom too, and it scared me, because I was close to my family and wanted to be close to my future family as well.

  “Alexandra, let me tell you all about the organic farm we visited. They use no fertilizers, herbicides, or pesticides. They rotate their crops to avoid depleting the soil of vital minerals. They have free-range chickens, no antibiotics, who lay large brown eggs. The owner told me most eggs labeled in the supermarket as free range are a fraud. The chickens are cooped in small cages and allowed to roam a small area for one hour a day.”

  “Wow, I had no idea,” I said. James ambled to the couch to sit down, giving Rose the chance to have the spotlight.

  “They also have cattle on the property. They graze on grass. Most cattle ranches pen the cattle in small areas. They feed them number two corn, not the type of corn you see at markets. It’s a genetically modified version that barely resembles the corn we all know.”

  “Does corn fed versus grass fed make a difference?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah. Grass-fed beef has the proper ratio of omega-3 to omega-6 fatty acids. Corn-fed beef causes your arteries to clog. Grass-fed beef doesn’t lead to clogged arteries. Your heart remains in tip-top shape with grass-fed beef.”

  “If that’s true, why don’t they feed all cattle grass instead of corn?” I asked.

  “It’s all about money. The industrialized farm conglomerates maximize their profits by using the smallest amount of land possible. Placing the largest number of cattle in small areas without grass and feeding them corn. Letting cattle roam free on fields requires large amounts of land. It could still be profitable, but the corporations want to squeeze every penny they can out of each cow.”

  The way she laid things out reminded me of Tom. This was where he got his “lecturing” manner, I thought. Somehow it made me feel more affectionate toward him. We don’t choose our parents, and his were flawed, but still better than many, and certainly better than Piper’s.

  My thoughts were interrupted by my phone ringing. My heart jumped when I saw it was Tom.

  “Hello, how’s it going in Chicago?” I asked.

  “Hi, Alexandra. There are some very disturbing details coming to light,” he said. “I don’t think Ethan’s car crash was an accident. I ran across his phone when I collected his personal belongs from the police. Go in the bedroom or go outside. I don’t want to alarm my parents or Piper. I need to play a message from his phone for you.”

  I casually walked out the front door toward the street. I could tell by the smile his mother gave me she thought we wanted to have phone sex or something just short of it. James didn’t budge.

  “OK, I’m outside,” I said.

  “Listen to this message. It’s from Piper’s mother, Sandy,” Tom said as he played the message.

  A woman’s voice speaking in a whisper-lik
e, secretive tone said, “Ethan, I’ve got to say this fast. Be very careful. Victor is coming after Constance. I told him she ran away last year. He’s found out I sent her to you in Chicago. He wants her back here. Don’t let him—”

  “Who the hell are you talking to, bitch? Give me that damn phone.” Then the sound of a slap.

  The phone went dead. That was the end of the message. “I don’t know who this Victor guy is, but he sounds dangerous,” Tom said.

  “I’ve found out a little about him,” I said. “He was Sandy’s boyfriend or something like that. She lived with him in an apartment complex next to a spa. I think the place was really a front for something else entirely. I’ll tell you all about it when you get back.”

  “I’m at the airport now. Ethan’s body is on its way back to California. I’ve arranged everything. We will have a short ceremony tomorrow, and when it’s over we are heading back to New Orleans on the first plane out. If this Victor is after Piper, I want to be on our home turf.”

  “What makes you think your brother’s car wreck wasn’t an accident?”

  “I found out it was a one-car accident. He was going over one hundred miles per hour and ran off the road. My brother never drove fast even when we were teenagers. So I claimed Ethan’s car from the impound lot, and I took it to a mechanic. He discovered the car’s computer was tampered with. Some son of a bitch murdered my brother, Alexandra!” His voice broke.

  “Tom . . .”

  “Hey, they’re calling my flight. I’ll see you when I get back. Don’t worry, I can deal with this. I’m just angry. I’m arriving in Sacramento at nine tonight. Borrow my parents’ car and pick me up. We can talk about our plans on the way from the airport to my parents’ house.”

  “OK. Darling, I’m so sorry. I’ll be there.”

  When I went back in the house Rose was regaling Piper with the virtues of organic farming. Piper sat across the table from her with glazed eyes, listening with silent numbness. When Rose finished, I shared the news about Tom’s return and Ethan’s funeral, having some trouble keeping my manner calm, still digesting the news I’d just heard. I was stunned that Ethan had been murdered. What was the matter with the world? It seemed that everywhere we turned, there was murder.